Chapter 26
The Pemberton's ball was considered by all to be a great success. And Estella Hale stood at the center of the room, surrounded by newfound friends.
"The lobster patties are a travesty," a baroness declared. "An absolute travesty. But the champagne is tolerable, so one mustn't complain."
Estella smiled and sipped her champagne as one of the other matrons responded. Her gaze drifted across the room to the far wall, where Sebastian stood.
He was watching her. As always. But there was no tension in his shoulders. No white-knuckled grip on his glass. No careful blankness hiding what lay beneath. He was simply watching her, and when her eyes found his, he didn't look away.
He smiled.
It was still new enough to make her giddy. That smile occurred more often these days, but it still felt like witnessing something precious. It softened every hard line, and though the scar remained, it was merely a part of the landscape of a face she loved beyond all reason.
She smiled back, and his eyes warmed in a way that made her skin flush, and the viscountess said something else about the evening’s menu that Estella entirely missed.
"You're glowing again." Thea arrived next to her with a slim volume tucked under her arm. Because of course Thea had brought a book to a ball. "It's been weeks. Shouldn't the glowing have subsided by now?"
"Apparently not," Estella said.
Thea lifted a shoulder. "It's physiologically improbable, is all I'm saying."
"And yet, it appears possible." Estella linked her arm through Thea's and steered them both toward a raised alcove where the duchess sat, looking out over the revelry.
"Your Grace." Estella settled into the chair beside her. "You look as though you're assessing a battlefield."
"I'm always assessing the field, Miss Hale." The duchess's eyes moved over the crowd. "It's one of the few pleasures of age."
Estella laughed. "You are hardly old, Your Grace."
The duchess sniffed. "I'm old enough to have earned the right to sit in a comfortable chair and judge people."
Estella and Thea both laughed, and Thea took a seat on the duchess’s other side.
The duchess's gaze settled on Estella, and there was genuine warmth there. Pride, even. "You've done remarkably well, my dear. When I think of the girl who walked into that first ballroom alone in a dress two Seasons out of fashion…" She shook her head. "And look at you now."
"That girl had help." Estella held the duchess's gaze. "Help she couldn't have managed without."
"Nonsense. The raw material was always there. I merely provided the polish."
Estella smiled. But she understood the duchess better now, after hearing her story about Lydia, whose life had been ruined by a silver-tongued devil who’d shown his true colors.
The duchess’s motivations made much more sense.
She was not cold and calculating, but a woman who had failed to save her sister and had channeled that failure into something useful.
"You know," Estella said carefully, "I've been thinking."
"A dangerous pastime," the duchess shot back.
"About what you've done for me this Season," Estella continued. "The introductions, the guidance, the…well, the education. In reading people. In trusting my own judgment."
The duchess raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"I no longer need it," Estella said. "Your protection, I mean.
I have Sebastian, and I have my own eyes.
And thanks to you, I know how to use them.
" She paused. "But there are others who do need it.
Young women arriving in London every Season without anyone to warn them about the Fairchilds of the world. "
The duchess's gaze sharpened. "What are you suggesting, Miss Hale?"
"I'm suggesting that what you did for me…you could do again. For someone else. And then, perhaps…maybe even someone after that." She let the idea sit between them.
The duchess looked into the distance, then sighed. "The ton keeps its young ladies so sheltered they can hardly navigate a drawing room, let alone spot a wolf in evening dress. Someone ought to prepare them."
Estella could almost see the thought taking root as the duchess continued to peruse the crowd.
To Estella’s surprise, the duchess’s gaze moved from the ballroom at large to the seat beside her where Thea sat.
She didn’t seem to be paying attention to their conversation, however, as she was sneakily peeking at the open book in her lap.
"An unofficial education," the duchess murmured. "In matters the governesses neglect."
Estella nodded. "Exactly."
"It would require the right candidates. Young women with potential who lack protection. And the right..." The duchess paused, and something almost mischievous crossed her features. "Tutors."
"Tutors?" Estella felt a pang of apprehension at the look in the other woman’s eyes.
"One learns best from experience, don't you think? If I wanted to inoculate a young woman against charming rakes, the most efficient method would be to introduce her to one. Under controlled conditions, of course." Her lips curved. "So she recognizes it in the wild."
Estella stared at her. "You're suggesting you'd pair debutantes with rakes? On purpose?"
"I'm suggesting nothing. I'm merely thinking aloud." But the duchess's eyes were bright with amusement at the idea. "It would take careful selection. The right young women. The right men. Reformed enough to be useful, charming enough to be convincing."
"That sounds…" Estella searched for the word. "Extraordinarily risky."
"All the best ideas are." The duchess nodded in Thea’s direction.
"But take Miss Evermore. One and twenty, unmarried, no family looking after her.
" Thea still didn't look up. Apparently she was unaware she was the subject of conversation.
The duchess shook her head and turned back to Estella.
"The girl is wandering London unchaperoned with a book and a complete disregard for social convention.
" She took a sip of champagne. "It will not do. "
Estella followed her gaze. She felt compelled to protest on her friend's behalf. "She seems to be able to take care of herself."
Though the words fell flat when they both realized that the lady in question was so distracted by her book, she didn’t even realize they were talking about her.
"Mm. That's what they all say." The duchess set her glass down. "Until they can't."
Before Estella could respond, a shadow fell across her chair. She knew who it was before she looked up. She always knew.
"Miss Hale." Sebastian stood beside her, and the formality of his address was undercut entirely by the way he was looking at her. "Might I have this dance?"
"You might." She took his offered hand and let him draw her to her feet.
They took the floor for another waltz. His hand settled on her waist. Hers rested on his shoulder. And they moved together with ease.
"You're staring," she said.
"You're beautiful."
"That's not what you said the first time."
"The first time, I said you were staring back. Which you were." His thumb traced a small circle against her waist, and her breath caught. "And you're doing it again."
She was. She couldn't help it. He was everything. The scar, the severity of his features, the rare and devastating smile—all of it, every bit of it, hers.
"I spoke with my solicitor this morning," he said. "About settlements."
She grinned. "How romantic."
"And I've drafted a letter to your father requesting a formal meeting."
She stifled a laugh. "Even more romantic."
His brows furrowed, but his eyes were warm. "You're mocking me."
"I'm mocking the fact that you've drawn up legal documents before you've even asked my father's permission. Before I’ve even met your mother."
"My mother will adore you. She's been writing to me daily since I mentioned your name, and I believe she's already chosen the flowers for the church." He paused. "She's also been scolding me mercilessly for the Clarissa debacle."
"Good. You deserve scolding."
"I know." He pulled her a fraction closer. Close enough that propriety was becoming negotiable. "But I want this settled, Estella. I want a date. I want banns read, and—" He stopped himself.
He wanted her. Completely, permanently, irrevocably. And the wanting was making him impatient in a way that was both endearing and slightly alarming.
"We'll do this properly," she said. "For Charlotte's sake, and for my reputation, and because I'd rather like to meet the woman who raised you before I agree to become her daughter."
He made a sound of grudging acknowledgement. "Fine. But—"
"But?"
"On one condition." His eyes darkened. He dipped his head, just slightly, so his breath grazed her ear and made her shiver. "Meet me in the garden. After the supper dance."
Heat flooded through her. "The garden?"
"I can be patient with this wedding, Little Ella. If you insist. But I need to feel you in my arms again as surely as I need air to breathe."
The words made her dizzy. And suddenly the idea of a hurried wedding held much more appeal.
His lips brushed her temple. "There's a fountain in the garden. Perfect for a midnight rendezvous."
"I'll be there," she whispered.
The waltz ended, and he released her with visible reluctance. She stepped back, and they stood for a moment in the middle of the dance floor
"Go," she said, smiling. "Stand by your wall. Glower at the guests. I'll find you later."
"I don't glower."
"You do. You've been glowering since the first night I met you."
"That wasn't glowering. That was vigilance."
"It was glowering. The duchess agrees with me."
His mouth curved. There it was again—the smile. "The duchess agrees with everyone who isn't me. It's one of her less endearing qualities."
He bowed over her hand, and his lips brushed her knuckles, and the contact sent a spark through her that she felt to her toes.
He walked away, and she watched him go. And when he reached his wall and turned and found her eyes across the room, she felt it.
She went to find Thea. She had a great deal to tell her. But as she crossed the room, she glanced over at the duchess, still sitting in her chair with her champagne and her calculating eyes.
The duchess was watching Thea.
And her smile was rather terrifying.